


Fall Fic Fest

by LizzyLovegood



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Autumn, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-04-24 13:13:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4920973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizzyLovegood/pseuds/LizzyLovegood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and Rose adjust to their life together in Pete's World. A series of loosely interconnected stories written for chocolatequeennk's Fall Fic Fest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Change

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the “fall colours” prompt provided by timepetalsprompts Ficlet Fridays (though it is a bit past midnight here) and chocolatequeennk‘s Fall Fic Fest.

Cold, the Doctor decides, is a very unpleasant feeling. He felt it on the beach, back in Norway, but only briefly before he and Rose were whisked away at Jackie’s behest to the zeppelin Pete had procured for them. Now, as they disembark onto the lush green grass of the Tyler estate (at least that’s what their pilot called it and Jackie smiled with no small amount of pride), the Doctor can’t help but recoil at the brisk breeze that sweeps through his thin blue suit and the soles of his trainers which he bounces on to warm himself.

Beside him, Rose is zipping up her leather jacket and he wishes he had his overcoat to offer her. He wonders if she wants that, too. He wonders if he should offer her this jacket or if that would be foisting this new self on her. (Also, he’s cold.) He wonders if he’s overanalyzing things.

As always, Rose makes the first move. Taking his hand firmly in hers and gives it a squeeze.

“How long were we gone for?” asks Rose and, on instinct, the Doctor reaches out for his time sense - he can tell her down to the last millisecond . . . well, down to the last yoctosecond, but that can cost them valuable adventure-having time - and is shocked at the emptiness he finds where that spot should be, more disconcerting even than the cold.

“Only a couple days,” answers Pete. With difficulty, due to the toddler clinging to one leg, he crosses the yard to envelop his wife and daughter in a hug. The Doctor releases Rose’s hand as if burnt, standing awkwardly on the sidelines, shifting from foot to foot to stay warm.

“Glad to see you’ve gotten more accurate,” says Jackie, nodding at him. “Won’t have you two swanning off somewhere in that new spaceship and only showing up for Christmas and Easter, I won’t.”

“We didn’t do that before, Mum. Of course the Doctor and I’ll--” glancing up at him, inviting him to share in her exasperation, she notices his self-insulating stance. “Are you cold?”

“No,” he lies badly.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” she reaches for his hand again, “we’ll have some tea and watch bad telly.”

And it’s so kind when he hates what he to her, so understanding when he can’t accept himself, so Rose when he doesn’t even have a bloody coat to give her that the Doctor can’t stand it.

“I’m fine, Rose. Just a bit stiff. Bit sore. From the zeppelin ride. I’m just gonna go stretch out these muscles. Take a walk.”

Before she can ask to come along, he’s turned his back, heading towards the cluster of trees where he and Rose hid last time they were here. They’re turning red and gold now, side-by-side with perennial hedgehog- and rabbit-shaped topiaries, and a path that wends through it all. Tempted to plunge into the tiny copse without heed for direction, the Doctor reluctantly takes it. He isn’t looking to hide from Rose, only from himself - what his old self did, what his new self isn’t, and how he can possibly make Rose Tyler happy with all this between them.

“Here, put this on.” Rose shoves something dark and puffy into his hands, a jacket filled with some sort of down. Not his old coat by any means, but he doesn’t think to disobey. Grateful warmth travels down his stiff limbs as he slips it on over his shoulders.

Lengthening her stride, Rose keeps pace with him.

“We had a long summer last year. Went from scalding to freezing like that.”

The Doctor nods, wondering if they are seriously discussing the weather right now. Or Rose discussing. Him listening.

“Hardly even got to see the leaves turn,” she says. “I missed that. There’s not as many fumes ‘round here, either. You can see all the colours. ‘S beautiful.”

The Doctor knows where this is going. Still, he says it anyway. “They’re dying.”

“They’re changing,” says Rose. “The tree’s still there, it’s just - got another chance. If it wants.”

“It wants.” The words can’t stumble off his tongue quickly enough. “But what if, erm . . . the tree doesn’t change in the way you expect? What if, at its heart, it’s really just some gnarled, thorny weed with - with poisonous suckers and . . .”

Rose raises her eyebrows. “You have suckers?”

Reluctantly, the Doctor cracks a smile. Rose smiles back, a tongue-touched one just for him.

They walk together under the falling leaves, circling back home.

 


	2. Pumpkin Everything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "fall food" prompt provided by chocolatequeennk's Fall Fic Fest.

“It’s apple-picking,” says Rose, the slightest bit of strain showing in her voice at this third reiteration of the day’s activity, “what’s there to understand?”

The Doctor had tried his best these past few weeks, to be a part of the Tyler family. (Or, as the gossip mags insisted on calling him: _Vitex Heiress Rose Tyler’s Mysterious Man, seen above in his self-styled Tuxedo of Doom - it certainly slays us_.) They had picked out this year’s pumpkins from the pumpkin patch and found their way through the corn maze, thanks to Rose’s unerring sense of direction. When they’d returned home, the Doctor had, with the help of the spare sonic he’d nicked as a parting gift, carved one into the face of Iron Man, much to Tony’s delight and engraved another - meant for his and Rose’s flat - with the silhouette of the TARDIS. The rest Jackie had taken to pass along to the kitchen staff, whose pumpkin pie, cookies, and muffins were second-to-none. Obligingly, the Doctor tried a bit of everything but drew the line at the pumpkin daiquiri the bartender offered him “on the house” after acing the latest round of pub trivia. Seasonal or not, why should orange produce get all the attention and bananas be neglected year-round?

Jackie, of course, was still Jackie but that also meant Jackie’s tea was still Jackie’s tea. Whether recovering from a regeneration coma or snuggled up with Rose recovering from other, decidedly more pleasant activities, it always hit the spot. He swore Rose to secrecy on both counts, though he knew Jackie must suspect at least one.

Much as Rose might make this life palatable, there were some human customs the Doctor could not wrap his part-human head around.

“Rose,” he begins in his most logical, hopefully not too condescending voice, “if you want apples, we can go down to Tesco’s and pick up a bushel. We don’t need to pay someone else to do it. Well, we do but the money spent would be on the apples themselves not the questionable luxury of performing manual labor on someone else’s property.”

“You didn’t complain about the pumpkin patch.”

“That was different. We promised your mum we’d take Tony. And there was the corn maze. Brilliant at that corn maze you were, Rose Tyler,” he adds, hoping to make her smile but she only scuffs the floor with a mud-stained trainer. The Doctor sighs.

“Look, I’m not saying _no_ , alright? I’m just - I don’t really see--” He cuts himself off. “We can go if you want.”

“No, you don’t have to.” Rose shakes her head, dislodging the Doctor’s hand cupping her cheek. “I’ll go with Mum and Tony. It’s fine.”

The Doctor snorts. “Yes, because you make just that pout when things are fine.”

“I’m not pouting.” Rose stops pouting. “I’m not gonna make you come and then have you mope around the whole time.”

“I’m not moping! When was I moping?”

“You’re acting like this whole thing’s pointless.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, you _are_!” Rose’s voice goes shrill for a second so she clears her throat before continuing. “Like you’re just here, wasting time on me till you can escape again.”

“Rose,” the Doctor jerks back as if stung, then forward again as Rose moves out of his reach, “I would _never_ \--”

“I know,” Rose rakes a frustrated hand through her hair. “I know you wouldn’t. ‘S just . . . whenever we’re not out somewhere, you’re in the lab. All you can talk about is the TARDIS and the stars. And I know you must miss it. I miss it, too, and it must be a thousand times worse for you. This life - it’s not you, I know, but it makes me feel like I’m not - _you_ , either. Like you and me, we’re not . . . you won’t even _kiss_ me in public.”

Before she can swallow down the latest lump in her throat, the Doctor has wrapped his arms around her.

“I love you,” he says firmly, kissing her scalp. “I love you more than anything in the universe.” He kisses her nose. “That includes the stars.” He kisses her cheek. “That includes the TARDIS. That includes,” he kisses her lips, humming in delight when she draws his lower lip between her teeth, “what your mother might think of our getting a bit handsy in the apple orchard.”

Rose blinked at him. “Doctor, you _do_ know she knows we’re shagging?”

“What?” The Doctor is proud of himself for not squeaking out the word. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” says Rose, “she does.”

“And the tea?”

“What about the tea.”

“Does she know? That I . . . like it?”

“Doctor, everyone knows that. Mum thinks it’s sweet, actually.” And, at the Doctor’s disgusted expression, “Must be why she bought us all those pumpkin-spice condoms.”

By the time she’s convinced him that she’s only joking, and that this is one area where banana does beat pumpkin out, it’s too late to go apple-picking. They make plans to go tomorrow instead and then go through the corn maze again, just for fun.

 

 


	3. A Rainy Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "fall weather" prompt provided by chocolatequeennk's Fall Fic Fest. Also, while this is quite late for Ficlet Friday, I did incorporate timepetalsprompts bonus, "a surprise."

When it rains, it pours. The Doctor glares up at the steel-gray sky then down to the steaming engine, hot to the touch even in five-degree weather. He mimes a thumbs-up at Rose, warm and safe inside the car at his request, and wonders how he could have forgotten his morning banana today of all days. Brain food when a stomachful of pumpkin and apple-cinnamon muffins fails to provide the answer to this automotive puzzle. The sonic would be perfect in this scenario but of course that’s undergoing updates from R&D to prevent any more exploding office appliances.

An eighteen-wheeler speeds by, drenching the Doctor in muddy water and soggy cigarette butts. Shaking his head like an irritated dog, he shoots Rose two thumbs-up just like he has planned the past worsening half-hour and will now send them on their way in a feat of heretofore unseen brilliance. In deference to this show of manliness, Rose waits another five minutes before calling first a tow service and then a cab. Teeth chattering and usually magnificent hair plastered to his scalp, the Doctor squelches after, leaving a slippery trail in his wake that culminates in a puddle _drip_ - _drip_ - _drip_ ping from the ends of his hair and cuffs of his too-tight blue suit (this one with white pinstripes instead of red) onto the floor of his and Rose’s office.

“Here,” Rose shoves a T-shirt and a pair of denims into his arms, “put these on.”

For no apparent reason, the shirt has a picture of a monkey in a prison jumpsuit on it and the trousers, which look to be an even tighter fit than his suit, are bright orange. The entire thing looks ridiculous, an unwitting insult stacked atop the already precarious pile and only the thought of Rose’s wounded expression stops him from tossing the whole ensemble into the gathering puddle at his feet.

“This isn’t my suit.” He tries to sound nonchalant but, as Rose tucks a bit of hair behind her ear, looking repentant, is afraid it comes off more forlorn.

“I know, I’m sorry.” To her credit, she actually looks it. “Mum went shopping your first week back. She thought you could do with a new wardrobe.”

The Doctor snorts. “Of course she did.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again. “You know Mum. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Most of it’s in the closet at home. Not that I’d expect you to wear it, just thought this one was kinda cute.”

“ _Cute_?”

“Dorky, I dunno. Goofy. Something you might like.”

Yes, because that’s exactly what he is in this world, isn’t it? Not the Doctor, just the hapless, _cute_ boyfriend who has to rely on his future mother-in-law for fashion advice because he got drenched attempting to jump start his car on a bitter Monday morning.

“Saving it for a rainy day, were you?” With ill grace, the Doctor strips off his suit jacket and stalks, as best he can with feet slipping in his flooded Converse, into the office’s en suite. Rose knocks on the closed door a second later.

“Doctor . . .”

“Rose?” He mutters a Gallifreyan epithet under his breath as he tries to part henley from damp skin.

“You know we have a meeting at ten, right? With Dad and the board?”

It’s quarter of now. He swears again, in English this time. “I remember.”

“OK. I’ll see you there.”

“Yup,” he agrees.

As it turns out, he is seven minutes late to the meeting but, taking their example from Pete, who takes his example from the Doctor’s drowned-rat head of hair, no one says a word. Even Rose is unusually subdued and offers none of her usual biting retorts when the more conservative members of the board voice their baseless fears about the newest aliens Torchwood is in treaty talks with.

The Doctor knows he’s hurt her. He also knows that there’s a possibility he’s overreacting. He definitely knows she didn’t store the clothes to spring on him after careful calculating the day that has the maximum potential for humiliation. Still, he can’t help but feel naked without a collar to straighten or a tie to tug at. Actually, he might be more comfortable naked - at least then the million eyes he swears he can feel on his back would be warranted. That is, on his bum. The sexy specs stored in his trousers’ back pocket will, he is willing to bet, be imprinted on his arse by the time the day is done.

Maybe that’s why Rose thought they were so _cute_. On any other day, this would earn her a wiggle of said impressive feature when he bent to retrieve a dropped pencil or piece of paper but now it just leads him back to being angry again. At the very least, peeved. He’s not a piece of meat - and he looks just as good in his charcoal suit, anyhow.

It’s still pouring by the time noon rolls around so, forgoing his usual stop at the cafe down the street where he and Rose like to sit with a container of chips, watching the leaves fall and the people race by, the Doctor heads down to the canteen for a sandwich. Rose isn’t there. Not in the mood for a conversation with Jake or Pete or the brunette intern eying him hungrily in the corner, he returns to his office to eat in peace. Rose isn’t there, either.

A half-hour goes by and then an hour. Rose still isn’t back. The Doctor ducks down to the canteen, empty now save for a few stragglers which do not include Rose Tyler. He texts her, then calls her but she answers neither.

“She left just before lunch,” says Jake when the Doctor tracks him down after eighty-two Rose-less minutes.

“And she didn’t say where?” Without a working car, she would have had to walk or take a taxi and he’s seen the drivers in this city. Both dangerous choices in optimal conditions.

“Sorry, mate.”

He punches redial again, plonking his forehead against the window, turned opaque in the rain, as if he can will Rose to him through the glass. It goes to voicemail again just as his mobile buzzes with a text.

_Got stuck in traffic, sorry. Come downstairs. Surprise for you._

Breath coming just a bit easier, the Doctor races past Jake to the bank of elevators, swiping Sharon from HR’s hand aside in his haste to reach the ground-floor button. Rose is waiting for him just inside the lobby. Her hair is damp and her face is flushed from the cold and the rain, free of this morning’s makeup.

Before she can say a word he’s crossed the hall - too-tight trousers be damned - and enveloped her in a hug. One arm comes up around his waist while the other remains at her side. The carrier bag that dangles from her wrist digs into his hip.

“Where _were_ you?”

“‘M sorry, I just went to the shops. Didn’t think I’d be gone this long. There was this three-car pileup--”

An accident she could easily have been a part of and his last words to her would have been some snide comment about a silly shirt. The Doctor shudders and pulls her closer, hoping Rose attributes it to the wind the revolving door lets in along with a group of tourists.

“Here,” Rose disentangles herself from his arms, “did you want to see your surprise?”

“My . . .”

“I was saving it for Christmas,” she admits, “had it on layaway and all. Just thought you might like it earlier. Get more use out of it, anyway. Especially on days like today.” She’s nervous and it’s with a tentative hand that she offers him the carrier bag. Inside, under red-and-gold wrapping, is his coat.

Well, not _exactly_ his coat. Janis Joplin gave him that coat and he doubts Rose ran into her at Debenhams. But it’s long and swishy and wonderfully warm when he sweeps it over his shoulders. How could he never have appreciated just how _warm_ it was before?

“Is it alright? We can return it, I kept the receipt.” Rose watches him anxiously, eyes following every movement. With difficulty she suppresses a shiver of her own.

The Doctor pulls her back into his arms, drawing the coat close around them both, nestling them together so their body heat is shared. Just short of stifling but exactly what’s needed after a long time in the cold.


	4. The Actuality of Artificial Fireplaces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "bonfires and fireplaces" prompt for chocolatequeennnk's Fall Fic Fest over on Tumblr. Super late, but this is a story I want to finish up. One more chapter after this. :)

Rose was right. Mac-and-cheese and a riotous round of aliens vs. dinosaurs was more than enough for a three-year-old reveling in a night spent with his idolized big sister and basically brother-in-law. There was a reason the double-fudge cookies were kept on the highest pantry shelf. Multiple reasons, among these a second game of time-traveling extraterrestrial warfare which ended in plastic pterodactyls chucked at his head and a mile-high stack of picture books that must be read till his voice grows hoarse and Rose offers to take over, shooting him a smile that was more than a little smug.

The Doctor can’t resist hovering in the hall, watching the pair of them. Warm and soothing, Rose’s voice washes over him, recounting the oft-told tale of _The Lonely Dinosaur_. It’s one of Tony’s favorite stories and, anachronisms notwithstanding, one of the Doctor’s favorites, too. Everyone loves a good happily-ever-after.

Rose wets her finger to pry apart two stubborn pages, the culprit a strawberry-jam thumbprint on the corner of page fifteen. She picks at it with her thumbnail and shakes her head, lips twitching before rolling her eyes very obviously toward the half-open door. Reluctant to disturb Tony in response to the Doctor’s expression of wide-eyed perplexion, she mimes the pouring of a kettle and he nods his understanding.

“He’s asleep,” is the gleeful whisper she greets him with some ten minutes later in which time the Doctor has set out two cuppas and the remaining cookies, cleared a path through the clutter of pointy plastic army men and velociraptors, and started an (electric) fire in the hearth. Jackie and Pete refuse to invest in the real thing till Tony stops seeing anything forbidden as an invitation to unparalleled adventures. With the Doctor and Rose as role models, Jackie is fond of preaching, this could take a long time.

He doesn’t bother bragging, not when it all pales in comparison to Rose’s accomplishment.

“Rose Tyler, I don’t know how you do it.”

“Not giving in to his puppy eyes helps,” she says, rather dryly. Still, she wraps her hands over his, round the steaming mug of tea he offers, so she can’t be that mad.

“Especially when he asks for _j_ _ust one more cookie_.”

He hopes.

“They remind me of yours a bit,” he wheedles. “All big and pleading - he can even squeeze out a little tear. Makes you want to do anything to make him smile again. Cookie?”

He hands her the package and she takes a couple, dunking one in her tea. Even with her eyes focused on the bobbing chocolate crumbs, Rose’s lips twitch in the shadow of a smile that he knows she won’t admit to if he prods her.

“Just trust me next time, yeah?”

“You’ll have ruling power of veto,” he promises.

“I’d better,” from over the rim of her mug she flashes him a tongue-touched smile, “else you’ll be stuck with bathtime _and_ bedtime stories.”

Chuckling, the Doctor wraps an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. Mug clasped tightly in her hands, she eases back against him. “Oh, I can think of worse things. Tony’s a good boy.”

“Mmm,” agrees Rose. “I was worried, when he was a baby, that he’d turn out like my cousins. He used to cry whenever I held him . . .”

“Tony loves you,” says the Doctor, tone brooking no room for argument.

“No, I know,” she angles her head to kiss the piece of chest visible between mismatched shirt buttons. “Think he just knew something was wrong, that I wasn’t - all the way here, yeah?”

“And are you? Now?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” she says, and that’s answer enough. “I think Tony might be even happier than me. You know he asked Mum to get him a suit for Halloween?”

“You’re kidding.” The Doctor’s voice goes high-pitched in flattered disbelief. He can’t stop the pleased smile that spreads across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Who else’ll watch old _Star Trek_ s with him?”

“You do!”

“And pause it every two seconds to answer every single question he has? Or play a dozen games of - whatever this is, in a row?”

“Aliens versus dinosaurs,” says the Doctor. “Then the army men were abducted by the aliens and allied themselves with the dinosaurs. Bit cliche, that. I’ll attribute it to overstimulation. His questions on _Star Trek_ are usually very profound. You’re staring at me.”

“It’s sweet, Doctor.” He wrinkles his nose at the endearment, if only because he knows it will make her laugh and kiss him again. “Alright. Manly, then. S’pose I just thought - it’s different, seeing you like this. Good different,” she adds quickly.

“But different,” says the Doctor. “How?”

“We’ve never been around kids much, you and me. There was Chloe and Nancy and them, but that was never - and I know you were a dad once . . .”

“That was a long time ago.” The Doctor stares into the artificially crackling flames. “That was different.”

“I know.” Rose’s head drops to her own chest, leaving him incongruously cold and confused till he tugs her back, shaking his head against her hair in self-recrimination.

“Good different,” he echoes her. “Very good different. My people were telepathic, Rose, but we were also very practical. The familial bond, say, between a mother and daughter was more like - like a business partnership than what you and Jackie have.”

“Or like Tony with you?”

“Yes.” She cranes her neck to face him as he nods, chin colliding with her forehead. Worry lines are forming there and he runs a tender thumb along their length. “I’ve never had anyone look up to me like Tony has. Emotions only complicated things.”

“Is that why you ran away?”

“That’s . . . part of it.” He pauses, carefully measuring his words. “But it still followed me. I let some antiquated ideals rule my life for the longest time, dictate how I was allowed to feel for you, how close I could allow myself to get to you. What we have now we could have had ages ago.”

“But you’re here now.”

“I’m here now,” he agrees. “I’m with you. We’re sitting in front of a fake fire and our biggest worry is what Jackie will say over how many artificial flavors those cookies were full of. It’s still the realest thing in my life.”

“I think they’re organic, actually.” Rose shifts in his hold to read the bright foil packaging. Snorting, the Doctor pokes her ribs, then wraps his long fingers round her waist to pull her into him again; the other places her half-finished mug on the coffee table.

“Fine, ruin my romantic declaration.”

At least the granules of sugar that coat her bottom lip are reassuringly real, as is the way he moans his name when he sucks it into his mouth.


	5. The Dashing Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the "Halloween and hayrides" prompt for chocolatqueennk's Fall Fic Fest over on Tumblr. Very late, granted, but I couldn't leave this story undone.

The costume shop is ransacked by the time Rose loses patience with the Doctor’s grumblings over the inaccuracies of her werewolf ensemble - namely the short skirt and fishnets which every bloke at Jake’s party is sure to be gaping at - and insists that, if he is going to complain, he find something just as ridiculous to wear.

Naughty Scooby Doos and nuns and a few phallic innuendoes hang in their plastic casings, waiting for some desperate soul to claim them. The cashier eyes them sullenly from the front counter as they trawl the empty aisles and the Doctor turns his attention to a fetishized Disney princess pinafore.

“You could probably pull off the fishnets,” says Rose, looking first him, and then the model on the package, up and down.

“ _Probably_?” The Doctor scoffs. “Rose Tyler, I’m insulted. I _know_ I could.” He flips through the hangers for a size that will fit him, intent on proving his point, but freezes barely halfway along the rack, brows furrowing and mouth flapping like a guppy’s.

Rose’s hand rests on his shoulder as she peeks over it. “Oh,” she says.

“Th-that’s you,” he squeaks.

Well, a pale imitation. The leggy blonde advertising the skimpy black server’s outfit, sheer stockings, and mid-calf boots (not included) has nothing on the one standing next to him.

“Yeah,” Rose drags the word out, sounding embarrassed. She takes the plastic package from the Doctor, studying it. “I didn’t even know they still made these.”

“When did they _start_ making them? You haven’t worn that in ages.” He nods at the outfit, feeling an irrational surge of jealousy. Besides the brief arch of one eyebrow, Rose doesn’t pay it much mind.

“After we left the first time. Someone got wind of what we had to do with the Cybermen, I dunno how. Dad thinks someone from Torchwood leaked it, ‘cause once I . . . came back, everyone connected the dots. Was chaos for a while, PR wanted me to endorse Rose Tyler lunchboxes.”

“Did you?” He can’t imagine she would - neither of them has ever enjoyed being in the limelight - but briefly entertains the mental image of a Defender of the Earth knapsack next to Barbie and Dora the Explorer.

Rose shakes her head. “I had enough to be dealing with and Dad knew it. He made them back off eventually. Didn’t stop the knockoffs, though.” She unfolds the dress and holds it up to herself where it hits at mid-thigh, just like the original. Even on the run from Cybermen and a mad scientist, her legs had been the most compelling sight.

“I liked that dress,” says the Doctor. He tears his eyes away from her denimed legs before remembering he’s allowed to do that now. To run his hands up and down her long, lithe legs and to feel them wrapped around his waist, to kiss the freckle on the back of her left knee and feel the fine hair on her upper thighs tickle his shaven cheeks. Still, old habits die hard, particularly when such habits are as foolish and long-standing as his. He can still remember stuttering and staring over Rose’s bare shoulder when she asked him to zip her up like it was yesterday.

“I know.” Rose grins, looking smug. “You were even more obvious back then, Doctor.”

“What?” The Doctor straightens his tie, half-faking affront. “I thought I was very gentlemanly.”

“Gentlemanly, yes,” Rose agrees. “Subtle, no.”

“Oh, as if you were any better, Miss _Lucy’s-a-bit-thick_.”

“You know, she’s actually really nice. ‘S a lot easier to be civil when you’re not distracting me in some tight tux.”

“I’m flattered,” says the Doctor dryly. But if Rose looked smug, his smirk more resembles the cat who found a whole flock of canaries. Or the Time Lord who was lucky enough to find - and be found, in return - by one human girl.

“That Torchwood source didn’t reveal anything else, did they?” he asks. “Say, how the Defender of the Earth may have had a companion the night of the Cybermen uprising? Great hair? Looks good in a suit?”

“Dad kept it quiet,” says Rose. “The Defender of the Earth from another universe was enough to handle without her Dashing Doctor.”

Minus the _dashing_ , the Doctor droops. “No couples’ costumes from PR, then?” If Rose is going to be ogled anyway, it may as well be in a costume that he can complement: the Romeo to her Juliet, Mickey to her Minnie, plug to her socket - or so says the grinning man on one of the plastic pouches, plastic prongs strapped across his torso and a leer on his face.

But Rose has already taken his hand, leading him past shopfronts and early trick-or-treaters, through the enticing scent of the food court and into a department store. Directing him to the menswear section, she throws first a jumper and trousers, then a leather jacket over their linked arms. It takes him longer than he’s proud of to understand what she’s doing, by which time a snooty salesman is holding open a changing room door.

“This isn’t really what I had in mind, Rose,” he says, straightening the leather jacket’s lapels. It hangs looser on him than he’s grown used to, no distraction to any potential Rose-suitor. He shivers as Rose wraps her arms round his waist to whisper in his ear.

“I’m the Bad Wolf,” she reminds him, “you’re my Doctor.”


End file.
